THE CHOOSING Page 5

  “I’d rather mate with a dung beetle!”

  The back of his hand caught her full in the face and split her bottom lip open. She sucked in the blood and the taste of it fueled her bloodlust. If there was only a way to get her hands on him, she knew countless methods to either kill him or render him so useless he would beg for death.

  “Chain her!”

  She was yanked to a post and her hands chained high above her head. At least it offered a new position for her arms, she thought as the tingle from them going asleep raced through her elbows and up into her shoulders.

  “Master Holdert,” she heard Lala’s voice from somewhere behind her. Feenix could not turn her head far enough to see where the elf slave stood. “Please reconsider this. Prince L’Garn will not be happy.”

  “Tuawtha curse Prince L’Garn! This slave needs to be taught a lesson in respect, and I intend to be her teacher! Back away, Lala, or you will feel my whip also.”

  “You better kill me, Holdert,” Feenix yelled, “because if I ever get free, I’ll hunt you down and fillet you slowly over a hot fire!”

  “Brave words, slave.” She heard the whip snake across the sand as he played it out and loosened his arm. “Let us see how brave you are after I caress you with my leather beauty.”

  The whining whistle of leather in the air warned her that Holdert had unleashed the lash.

  Crack!

  The tip of the whip licked the post, inches from her nose. She felt the wind as it whizzed by, and a tiny splinter of wood flaked away from the stake. The guard’s chuckles burned through her mind. He was toying with her.

  “You missed, scum! Let me loose and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  “Impatient, slave? Are you one of those women who enjoy pain?” The other guards joined in Holdert’s laughter.

  “Master Holdert, this is folly. Let me have the slave before Prince L’Garn learns of this.”

  “One more word from you, Lala, and you will share this one’s fate!”

  Crack!

  Again the tip of the whip flicked out, this time on the other side of her head. She felt a slight tug at her hair as Holdert recoiled the length of leather.

  “Another miss, scum.” She turned her head to try to look behind her at her tormenter. “You shouldn’t be allowed to handle weapons you don’t know how to use.”

  “No miss, slave,” a new voice spoke up. “Holdert is a master of the whip. You just lost a lock or two of hair!”

  The guards laughed and slapped Holdert on the back.

  By Mac Lir’s blue nose, she swore to herself, her hair!

  “Leave my hair alone and get on with the beating, if you’re man enough to do it!”

  “Oh, I am man enough, slave. Lala! Move her hair off her back. It is in my way!”

  Feenix felt her hair gathered gently.

  “Your tongue will get you more stripes of the whip, human,” Lala whispered to her as she draped the long black curtain of hair over Feenix’s shoulder. “Do not anger Holdert more and perhaps you will survive.”

  “I’d rather be dead than a slave to anyone!”

  “So be it, then.” The elderly slave tucked the gathered hair inside Feenix’s left arm and backed away. “It is done, Master Holdert.”

  Feenix concentrated on her breathing and tried to relax. Impossible, knowing at any second a lethal strip of leather was going to cut a foot long gash into the flesh of her back, and she was powerless to stop it from happening.

  Crack!

  An involuntary grunt of agony passed her lips, and the guards laughed at her discomfort. Pain, white hot and throbbing, erupted across her back.

  “I did not miss that time, slave!”

  Gasping for breath, Feenix turned her head and tried to focus on him. “Was that your whip? I thought a horsefly had landed and bit me while I was waiting for you to figure out how to use that leather!” She could feel blood crawling down her skin. By Mac Lir’s chin, she would be damned if she would show fear and pain to this scum.

  “A horsefly, was it? Perhaps this will feel more like a beating!”

  Crack!

  Again the leather bit into her skin, but this time she was prepared. She bit down on her bottom lip and swallowed the scream that demanded to be released. Her head buzzed and her breathing became shallow. If she didn’t know better, she might think she was going to faint like a damned coward!

  Before the agony of her back registered in her muddled brain, another lash ripped at her flesh. Her knees buckled and her vision blurred. Impossible to hold back the scream that ripped through her entire body and escaped past her bloody lips.

  If she survived, she would take immense delight in killing this elf. Not merely because of the brutal attack on her body, but most importantly because he had forced her to scream in pain. No one did that to Captain Feenix of Port Marcus and lived to tell about it. All she had to do was survive this torture and heal. Survive and heal.

  Again the leather whistled in the cavern, and Feenix braced herself for the lash. The smell of blood was pungent and hot in the air. She focused all her concentration on remaining alert. If she fainted and survived this ordeal, she’d have to kill herself for such weakness.

  She gulped in some foul air and waited for the leather to fall. By all the god’s holy blood, Mac Lir had a lot to answer for!

  What was he waiting for? Why didn’t he strike?

  She ducked her head under her right arm and tried to turn her body to see why he was waiting.

  “What’s the matter, Holdert,” she grunted. “Is that all you’ve got? Three taps with the leather?” It was probably a good thing she hadn’t eaten in two days, she decided. To lose the contents of her stomach in front of her enemy would be the final disgrace.

  Her sight was blurry and gray, and her head buzzed and felt so light she couldn’t really see her attacker or the other people in the room. But it seemed to her that everyone was as still as death, and she was the only bit of motion in the entire cavern.

  And then she was sure she was going to faint, and nothing, not even breathing exercises or curses to gods, was going to prevent her from the disgrace of it. Damned elves. She never should have gotten mixed up with them. Aw, hell. It was too late now.

  “By the Jewels,” said the voice that had started Feenix’s present nightmare. “What do you think you are doing, Holdert?”

  The silence in the room exploded as everyone spoke at once. Finally, her tormenter’s voice rang above the others.

  “This slave attacked me, Prince L’Garn. I was merely disciplining the creature.”

  “Is this true, Lala? Did the new slave attack Holdert?”

  Lala hesitated before answering. “The slave kicked him, highness, when Holdert was not looking.”

  Feenix’s vision was fading in and out, but she saw a figure emerge out of the darkness and approach her. She tried to turn to get a clearer view, but her wrists chained to the post would not allow it.

  She sucked in a quick breath and groaned low at the touch of gentle fingers on her back.

  “Four stripes, Holdert? Do you not think that a bit excessive for a female?”

  “She is strong, prince. She nearly broke my knee. I have only given her three lashes; the other she earned when she would not get dressed. Even Lala agrees the slave needs to be taught some manners.”

  “Scum. Hiding behind a female rather than take responsibility for your actions. Release me and fight me fair. I will show you how we discipline our guards in Port Marcus!”

  Feenix’s voice was nothing more than a raw whisper, but it echoed around the cavern for all to hear.

  “Peace, slave,” said L’Garn, coming to stand close enough for her to see clearly. “Did I not say your tongue would lead you into trouble?”

  Turning from her, he motioned to one of the other guards. “Give me your whip. Lala, unchain this woman.”

  He stepped away from the post and faced Holdert. The guard handed him a long, supple whip, the handle
black from much usage. Feenix shuddered as Holdert uncoiled his own weapon and grinned hungrily at L’Garn.

  Lala brought a box over to stand on while she unlocked the chains from the post. Feenix collapsed at the foot of the wooden stake before the old slave could catch her.

  “Come. Let us get away from here before any more damage is done.”

  “I can walk, old woman,” Feenix whispered, but she found she needed to rely on Lala’s strength to get her across the cavern to a safe place against a wall.

  Feenix propped herself up, using her knees to rest her too-heavy head, and tried to concentrate on the scene in front of her. The agony of her back kept her from focusing clearly, but she forced herself to remain conscious. She had to know what the fate of the two Night Elves in front of her would be.

  “I gave orders that the human was to be brought to the slave quarters to begin her duties.” Feenix felt the hair lift at the nape of her neck at the menace in L’Garn’s voice.

  “I am sick of taking orders from a ‘Breed! It is time you learned your place,” the guard yelled.

  Feenix watched the length of Holdert’s whip fly through the air to flick the side of L’Garn’s head. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek and mingled with the dark stubble of his beard.

  “You dare question the Prince of the Royal House?”

  L’Garn’s whip cracked sharply as the tip caressed Holdert’s left cheek, opening the flesh to the bone. The guard screamed and slapped his huge hand over the wound. Feenix understood the blind rage that took possession of the guard as he realized the prince had cut him.

  Holdert suddenly began wielding the whip faster than Feenix thought possible. It seemed as if the length of leather was everywhere, attacking L’Garn. The prince countered and defended himself with his own whip with an expertise beyond anything she had imagined.

  The cavern rang with cracks and pops as the whips alternated striking bodies and open air. The linen of L’Garn’s shirt ripped open in the right sleeve and across his chest. A red line of blood trickled steadily from his head and arm, but he never wavered.

  Holdert stumbled, but recovered himself. He had to be tiring, Feenix knew, after his little session with her, but still he attacked the half-elf with a battle fury she knew and understood. His own leather vest was in tatters around his waist, and it seemed to Feenix that the prince was taking great pains in marking the guard with some sort of pattern across his stomach and chest.

  Feenix watched L’Garn’s grim face. While Holdert was in the throes of total battle rage, L’Garn’s anger remained controlled and deliberate. She thought she would prefer to face Holdert’s uncontrolled rage rather than the cold, calculated brutality of the prince.

  Some level of Feenix’s consciousness registered that the cavern was filling with guards, attracted by the noise of battle. The newcomers stood against the walls, well out of the way of the combatants, as they cheered and shouted encouragement to their companion. It appeared as if this prince had more enemies than followers, she thought.

  Holdert grinned at his comrades’ encouragement.

  “I have been waiting a long time to put you in your place, you Outbreed bastard.”

  His whip sneaked out and, by some lucky stroke, wrapped around L’Garn’s thigh. The guard laughed and pulled the prince off his feet.

  Feenix couldn’t help her gasp as L’Garn fell and landed on his back. He shook his head as if to clear it from the fall.

  Before he could regain his feet, Holdert dropped the whip and drew his sword—a short, flat blade, Feenix noted—and advanced on the fallen half-elf.

  “By Meedrion’s throne, I am going to enjoy slitting your throat,” he panted as he rushed to the fallen prince’s side.

  L’Garn pulled the whip to him, grabbed the leather end of the hard handle and deflected the sword thrust to his chest. In a heartbeat he was on his feet, facing his sword-wielding enemy with nothing but his bare hand and the wrong end of a whip.

  Again the guard thrust the sword, and again the prince parried, knocking the sword from Holdert’s hand with a stunning blow to the blade. In a blur, Feenix watched L’Garn smash the guard’s face with the whip handle, knocking his opponent to the sandy ground.

  “You need to be taught a lesson in protocol and etiquette, my friend.” He backed up three paces. “On your knees before me, Holdert.”

  The guard was slow to obey. L’Garn hastened the guard’s compliance with a quick flick of the whip. Part of the Night Elf’s ear flew to the sand, and the guard screamed in pain.

  Holdert scrambled to his knees, holding his ear and whimpering.

  “I am your royal prince, Holdert.”

  The whip cracked again as another red gash appeared across the guard’s chest. His flesh hung from his ribs, very much as his vest hung from his waist. Feenix had never seen a whip carve a man so cleanly and precisely.

  “My every wish is yours to fulfill.”

  The whip lashed out and wrapped itself around the guard’s neck.

  “Do you not agree, Holdert?”

  “Yes, highness,” the guard mumbled.

  L’Garn tugged gently on the whip’s handle, making Holdert waver off balance before he caught himself. “Ask me what I want, Holdert.”

  L’Garn’s voice froze Feenix’s blood. His rage had turned from blazing heat to ice. His glacial tone sent shivers down her spine. But then again, it could be the shock of her own wounds, she knew.

  “Wha... what do you want, ‘Breed?”

  The guard’s question barely reached her straining ears. L’Garn kicked him in the stomach and Holdert doubled over. The leather of the whip grew taut as the prince used it to keep the guard from toppling completely over.

  “Ask nicely,” L’Garn growled, like a beast barely under control.

  Lala made a small, frightened sound in the back of her throat.

  Holdert slowly straightened and looked into the prince’s face. “Wh...what. . .” he coughed and blood ran down his chin. L’Garn gave the whip another little jerk. “What does my prince want?”

  The smile that stretched across L’Garn’s face was the stuff of nightmares. It held no mercy, no compassion, no release. It held only a hungry thirst for violence. It was a smile of total power over an opponent, and Feenix recognized it for what it was, for she had experienced just such a rush of power and control over her own enemies many times.

  By Mac Lir’s ears, she didn’t look like that just before a kill, did she? She was shocked and just a little thrilled at the thought. Power and domination were addictive drugs.

  The entire cavern waited in silence for L’Garn’s command to Holdert. It was as if everyone’s breathing and heart rate had been suspended in time.

  “I want you to clean my boots.”

  Feenix wasn’t sure if she heard the correct words.

  Neither was Holdert it appeared, for he shook his head and asked, “What?”

  “I want you to clean my boots.”

  When the guard still did not seem to comprehend, L’Garn gave a fierce jerk to the whip and dragged Holdert into the sand, face first.

  “Now!”

  The sharp command whipped around the cavern, startling everyone who had been mesmerized by the proceedings.

  Holdert coughed and choked as he tried to crawl to L’Garn’s feet. The whip remained tight around his neck, and Feenix could see it cutting into the flesh. The guard managed to reach the toe of L’Garn’s boot and began to weakly brush the sand and blood from it.

  Again the prince jerked the whip, this time holding it high in the air, forcing the guard’s head up. Holdert’s face began to turn a deep shade of purple and his eyes were in danger of popping from his head.

  “With your tongue, Holdert.”

  Even Feenix was shocked at the length of humiliation L’Garn demanded of the beaten guard.

  The half-elf dropped the whip, and Holdert slumped to the ground, unmoving. After a moment, L’Garn kicked him with the toe of his boot, but the
guard remained unmoving. He was either unconscious or dead.

  With an impatient sound, L’Garn stepped over the body and directed a fierce glance at the nearest guard.

  “Take him to the slave pens. If he lives he can spend the rest of his life chained to the water wheel.”

  “Yes, highness.”

  It was as if whatever force had been holding Feenix in the sitting position and conscious deserted her without warning. Her head felt as if it was going to float off her neck, while her back was a blaze of burning agony. Her stomach rebelled and she was afraid she would vomit all over herself.

  She opened her eyes as a pair of dirty boots met her view. Lifting her head was the hardest task she had ever done, she thought.

  “I do not believe you can walk...can you, human?”

  L’Garn’s terse words warred with the concern Feenix thought she saw in his eyes. She was probably hallucinating, being so close to passing out.

  Before she could summon the strength to reply, he picked her up with gentle hands and draped her over his shoulder. “I believe this is becoming a habit.”

  She could feel his heart pounding and his lungs laboring as he fought to control his anger and rage. She knew the battle fever, once upon a warrior, took a while to be totally exorcized.

  “Don’t worry, elf-man,” she muttered between clenched teeth as she tried to remain conscious. “I won’t let it become a habit you enjoy.”

  “Too late,” he growled.

  The old slave followed them out of the room.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “I am afraid I will have to cut the garment off of her, highness. Her back must be cleansed and there are bits of cloth inside the wounds.”

  “Do it.”

  L’Garn watched as Lala examined the woman’s back. The beaten slave made no noise, although he knew she was conscious still. Her blue eyes, glazed with pain, stared at a fixed point on the wall; her bloody lip had disappeared between straight white teeth. He did not know how she managed to keep from fainting.

  L’Garn had seen seasoned warriors weep like little children under the lash. When he was young, he had watched a male slave whipped to death. He had kept his mother awake for many days with the terrible dreams. Another lesson learned courtesy of his grandfather.